


Wanna Get Out

by yet_intrepid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Absent John, Crayons, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Road Trips, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2279202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re in the back seat of the car. They’ve been in the back seat of the car for a whole day, and Sam’s legs want to go. He <i>doesn’t</i> want the red crayon. He had it just a few minutes ago, and Dean keeps trying to give it back to him, like he’ll think it’s new and exciting somehow. Like he’s a <i>baby.</i></p><p>Sam isn’t a baby. He’s two. He’s big now; Daddy and Dean both say so. But they don’t act like it.</p><p>“<i>Don’t</i> want it,” Sam says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanna Get Out

“Look,” Dean says, holding up a red crayon. “You want this?”

They’re in the back seat of the car. They’ve been in the back seat of the car for a whole day, and Sam’s legs want to go. He _doesn’t_ want the red crayon. He had it just a few minutes ago, and Dean keeps trying to give it back to him, like he’ll think it’s new and exciting somehow. Like he’s a _baby_.

Sam isn’t a baby. He’s two. He’s big now; Daddy and Dean both say so. But they don’t act like it.

“ _Don’t_ want it,” Sam says.

“Come on,” says Dean. He’s got paper, too. But it’s the waxy kind that isn’t good for coloring, and besides, Sam already colored it. “Don’t you wanna make a picture?”

“Did already,” says Sam. “Made one!”

“Well, make another one!” says Dean. He draws a little car with the red crayon. Sam frowns.

“Cars are yucky,” he says. “All done with cars. Wanna get _out_.”

“We can’t get out.”

“Wanna,” says Sam. “Wanna eat.”

Dean sighs. Sam takes advantage of his silence. “Me eat dinner!” he announces. “Dean eat dinner; Daddy eat dinner. Eat. No car.”

“We can’t eat dinner yet,” Dean hisses, shushing him. “We have to wait. Now be quiet, okay.”

Sometimes Dean talks like that, like there’s something scary that’s going to hear them. Sam looks around, but he only sees Daddy, and some cars out the window. Maybe the cars can hear. Maybe the big truck is bad, and doesn’t like it when little boys are loud, and is gonna squish them.

Sam starts to cry. He just wanted to eat dinner, and now a truck’s gonna squish him.

Dean’s digging around by his feet, and then his head pops up and he smiles at Sam. Sam smiles back, uncertainly, because the big truck is still kinda scary but Dean wouldn’t be smiling if they were gonna get squished.

“Look!” says Dean. He’s holding up the red crayon.

Sam takes the crayon and throws it back on the floor, but he laughs. Dean is silly. Sam isn’t a baby who always thinks it’s a new crayon.

“Wanna get out,” he says again.

“Can’t,” says Dean. Suddenly the car gets loud. Sam thinks Daddy did it.

“Daddy plays yucky songs,” he says. “Wanna sing _Wee Sing_.”

“We’re gonna let Dad play his music this time,” says Dean. “We can listen to _Wee Sing_ later.”

“The lamb song too?”

Dean puts on his big-boy face. “Maybe,” he says. Sam doesn’t know why Daddy always skips the lamb song. And the garden song too, the one with shells and bells. Daddy doesn’t like _any_ fun songs. And he doesn’t like crayons, and why doesn’t he want dinner? Sam reaches forward to tap on Daddy’s shoulder.

“Daddy,” he says, “Daddy, wanna eat dinner.” And then he remembers what good boys add. “Please. With apple juice, please, Daddy.”

“Damn it, Dean,” says Daddy, “can’t you keep him quiet for ten seconds?”

“I’m trying!” Dean protests.

Sam pouts. Daddy and Dean talk to each other lots more than they talk to Sam. Sam asks things and nobody ever answers. “But Daddy,” he says, “said please!”

“Dad’s driving, Sam,” says Dean.

Sam kicks his feet. When Dean offers him the red crayon this time, he doesn’t even look.

He’s not a baby. He wants dinner, not a stupid red crayon. He’s a big boy, and he’s being _good_ , and nobody’s listening.

“Wanna get out,” Sam says again. And he closes his lips on the _please_. 


End file.
